Gaping isolation

If you kept my love in title, i would hold a spot for you in my heart and life until the day you claimed or cleft that name The roses and fungus climb from the corpse of our combined couch rot Our equator is far below half and far past equal. Our faces spill forth that which we wish to hide and yet we sit upon our own asses as if they had nowhere else to rest the weary haunches that have carried us this far. Our outlet is benign as long as nobody sees it happen. Guile is our legality as being seen equates to false imprisonment. Our children bear the shame and degradation of our own predilictions. Our authenticitiy becomes a stamp of reality that vaguely represents our lost humanity, but lets not forget to destroy the nest in which we nurture our progeny, forever forth neglected as the family they where born into disintigrates entirely. The deepest regret feeds endlessly to the depth of sorrow i can fathom. Moment by moment unknown horrors unveil complex and devious machinations that have been in your wheelhouse for time untold. Your whim is a fickle pressure plate, and has sprung the trident through my breast and ive not yet felt the worst when the recoil leaves deep chasms of gaping isolation.